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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27909268">all i ever wanna be (is somebody to you)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/confidein/pseuds/confidein'>confidein</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Enemies to Lovers, Falling In Love, Hogwarts Seventh Year, Light Angst, M/M, Oblivious Harry Potter, Pining, Romance, Slow Burn, draco is an asshole but he slowly gets better</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 18:42:28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,172</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27909268</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/confidein/pseuds/confidein</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In retrospect, had Harry not decided to pick up every scrawny ferret that scrambled past him, maybe he would still be exchanging petty insults with Draco instead of correcting that name to Malfoy each time it crossed his mind.</p><p>Or, Draco never thought he'd like the sight of Harry smiling at him until he did and it was already too late.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>all i ever wanna be (is somebody to you)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Harry picks up a ferret. (And of course that leads to all sorts of trouble for Draco.)</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>harry freaking potter. of course i had to contribute to this fandom.</p><p>tags and rating may change. update schedule is shit, but i hope it's not too shit.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p><p>
  <strong>It’s funny</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>How they can creep up on you,</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Hold their hands over your eyes and whisper,</strong>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>When Draco Malfoy’s mind touched on any subject related to the existence of Harry Potter, the base of his chest tightened up, as if simply the acknowledgement was something he’d rather forget about. </p><p>When their eyes caught across the hallway or Potter frowned in his direction after one too many harsh words from Snape, his fingers ached for ink and a quill. Over the years, the itch to write to his mother about everything that angered him eased, but the tightness in his chest never did; he’d just forgotten it existed. It wouldn’t be until Pansy distracted him with a snarky insult or Goyle asked a ridiculous question, and the rigid feeling faded that he remembered it was there at all.</p><p>Thinking about the first day at Hogwarts, his failed attempt at something akin to friendship (“Had I known he’d turn out to be the self-righteous bastard he is, I would’ve transferred to Beauxbatons Academy and happily eaten all those baguettes. Shut the fuck up, Zabini.” Because avoiding Potter wasn’t worth it and worth all of it at the same time.), left a bitter taste in his mouth. </p><p>In a way, the suffocating pressure of keeping his grades high enough to be an acceptable Auror after graduation was a welcome distraction, especially when Gryffindor and Slytherin shared so many classes in seventh year.</p><p>“Draco, your ink is smearing.”</p><p>God, his ink was even smearing. </p><p><em>Fuck, what?</em> Draco blinked, and it wasn’t until Goyle cleared his throat to repeat himself that he registered the messy blots of black dotting his Charms essay. Familiar annoyance crawled up his throat when he realized that the reason he had to rewrite two hours worth of words was because he had been picking apart Potter’s condition again. </p><p>He was annoyed at Goyle for witnessing it all, at Flitwick for assigning the work, and at Potter for simplifying existing. </p><p>“I have extra parchment,” Goyle said hesitantly after Draco let out a long sigh through his teeth. He shuffled his weight onto his left foot.</p><p>Draco curled his lip. “I have my own parchment,” he snapped, jabbing a finger at the small pile at the side. The sight of Goyle in the library- <em>the library!</em> -irked him to no end. Something about the tall shelves filled with books the goon would never be able to read that towered over him for once in his life made the sight pathetic. </p><p><em>That’s not very nice</em>. The words that Potter said on the train to Hogwarts last week (“Poor Draco, you’ve finally grown tired of your parents, have you?” “Shove your nose onto an ironing board, maybe that’ll finally work out all those wrinkles in your face, Pansy.”) still rang in his ears every time his mind came up with a new vicious remark. He’d never admit it, of course. </p><p><em>I never claimed to be a nice person</em>, Draco thought scornfully whenever Potter’s frown floated to the surface of his mind. He had an urge to fiddle with the scruffs of his quill.</p><p>“Just-” Draco grinded his teeth. “Just leave me alone, will you? Find Crabbe and do whatever you idiots do with your leisure time.”</p><p>“You’re mad,” Goyle said instead.</p><p>“Acute observation,” Draco scoffed. “I hear it’s a common reaction when it comes to Flitwick and his passion for reading shitty essays.”</p><p>Goyle shifted to his weight back onto his right foot, looking so uncomfortable that Draco almost felt sorry enough for him to bite back the edge in his voice. “You’re mad all the time.”</p><p>“I didn’t know your two braincells could multitask.”</p><p>“Pansy told me.” </p><p>Draco scowled. “Tell her to mind her own business.” Something must have been amiss, if Goyle was willing to take Pansy’s word on Draco’s behavior – Pansy, who would much rather spend her time taunting first-years than sustain whatever measly friendship she had with Parvati. Or perhaps his father had been right all along, and he’d gotten soft after being surrounded by the same inner circle for six years at Hogwarts.</p><p>Instead of responding, Goyle reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, round package. He held it out to Draco, who, after a moment of hesitation, took it.</p><p>If not for the lack of corners, Draco would have mistaken it for a chocolate frog. The front of the little container was decorated with gold, with the words <em>Ferret Frog</em> printed in a stylistic font with the same color in the center. Above it, in neat bolded letters was <em>WWW</em>. Draco eyed it for a moment longer before raising his gaze and lifting an eyebrow at Goyle. </p><p>“Care to tell me what this is?” he asked suspiciously. “Ferret Frogs?”</p><p>Goyle shrugged. “Professor Flitwick gave it to me,” he replied. “I answered one of his questions in class today. And I think you need it more than me.”</p><p>“Huh,” Draco narrowed his eyes. “Well. Thanks, I suppose.” In the back of his mind, there was a part of him that was mildly offended that <em>Goyle</em>, of all people, thought a cheap rip-off of a chocolate frog could help improve his sinking mood. </p><p>Even worse, <em>Goyle</em>, of all people, thought his mood was taking a nose-dive didn’t lift his spirits.</p><p>Draco popped open the container and scrunched his nose up at the treat sitting on a card. A frog, a ridiculous looking one, stared back at him with its beady eyes. If not for its scaly back, Draco would have mistaken it for a ferret. Instead of the usual lump of a shape that chocolate frogs usually came to be in, this one curled in on itself, all long torso and clumpy tail.</p><p>Ugly, was what it was. He picked it up and for the first time that day, the tension in his chest eased and Draco allowed his shoulders to loosen.</p><p>“Ferret Frog,” Goyle muttered. “Ferret Frog.”</p><p>“Real creative, don’t you agree?” Draco muttered as he took the frog out of its packaging and examined the slip of paper sitting beneath it.</p><p>Unlike the usual collectable cards that came with chocolate frogs, this one wasn’t made of the same hard board. It was nothing more than a piece of parchment with the word <em>Beta</em> scrawled on it.</p><p>“Wonder what that stands for,” Draco mused as he bit off the frog’s head.</p><p>Almost immediately after he swallowed the chocolate, there was a tingling in his fingertips. The strange sensation spread rapidly up his arms, and as he opened his mouth to curse whatever hex the chocolate came with, his vision swam, and Draco was on the ground.</p><p>Or rather, his face was so close to the ground that he couldn’t tell if he’d fallen or shrunk.</p><p><em>Shrunk</em>.</p><p>
  <em>Shrunk!</em>
</p><p>Draco slowly raised his head to meet Goyle’s eyes, fiery and shock bubbling up his throat. He opened his mouth to shout, the words forming on his tongue – but all that came out was a squeak. A small, pitiful noise that sounded more like blowing a raspberry than a proper squeak.</p><p>Draco stared at Goyle, and Goyle stared back.</p><p>“Oh,” was all the bastard had to say.</p><p>Draco finally broke away from Goyle’s numb gaze and look down at his hands. Paws. Paws. His hands were <em>paws</em>.</p><p>Paws that were covered in fur so white and strangely familiar – <em>Draco Malfoy, the amazing bouncing ferret. </em>That damn Weasel.</p><p>This time, he squeaked properly.</p><p>The sound finally spurred the both of them into action. Draco let out a barrage of angry noises which too enraged to care about how pitiful they sounded. Goyle jumped at each one and watched Draco dart around with his eyes wide in horror.</p><p>It wasn’t until one of the Ravenclaw first years stumbled into their corner of the library and nearly stepped on Draco’s new tail that Goyle yelped, “I-I’ll go get Madame Pomfrey!”</p><p><em>No, don’t just leave me here to deal with this shit alone, you fucking git</em>, Draco tried to shout. His squeaks pitched higher as the Ravenclaw girl took a step towards him, and in a moment of panic, he whirled around and scrambled deeper into the library.</p><p>In retrospect, it would have been a better idea to stay where he was instead of rushing off into the maze that was Hogwarts’s library, but just the thought of the same incident with Moody repeating itself made his sides ache. He wanted to threaten somebody with his father’s name, but nobody was around, and perhaps he should have been grateful for the small mercy.</p><p>Draco’s mind had finally calmed enough to begin wondering what the fuck he was going to do next when his paws lifted into the air.</p><p><em>Oh, isn’t this</em> <em>just fucking wonderful</em>, he thought bitterly, <em>I’m flying</em>. He struggled, but it was futile. One hand curled around his torso, and a moment later, another joined. Draco was met with another surge of panic. <em>God, I’m going to die as a jackass-looking ferret.</em></p><p>“What are you doing here?” the owner of the hands whispered, his voice hushed and soft. “Stop that squeaking, Madam Pince is going to curse whoever brought you in.”</p><p>Draco jerked his head around to bite a finger or five off, but the glimpse he caught of the boy who was holding him out of the corner of his eye made his train of thought halt with surprise.  </p><p>Scruffy, black hair that Draco could pick out within a second’s notice out of any crowd, ridiculous, round glasses that should’ve been discarded years ago, and green eyes. All wrapped up in a scornful bundle with a bolt-shaped scar that was the irritating character of Harry fucking Potter.</p><p>It must’ve been the adrenaline stopping him, or he would’ve bitten off all ten of Potter’s fingers.</p><p>Potter blinked twice at his sudden stillness before splitting into a smile. </p><p>“Hi there, I’m Harry.” He pulled Draco in close to his chest and smoothed down his ruffled fur. Draco’s already quick heartbeats picked up an even faster pace and distantly, he wondered if he would pass out.</p><p>He was in <em>Potter’s hands. </em>He was <em>being held </em>by<em> Harry Potter</em>. Potter’s hands were something he’d only felt from his mother before, and so foreign at the very same time to Draco that he couldn’t help but want to lean in closer, just to imprint the feeling forever into his mind. His hands were rough with callouses around the edges where a broom would rest, but so gentle that Draco wondered how he’d ever been called clumsy.</p><p>Most of all, they were warm. It surprised him, the way heat seeped through his fur and then deep into his skin. At the Malfoy Manor, each room breathed cold, even in the dead of summer, when the rest of the world was sweltering. He’d never minded it – preferred it in fact, to the oozy, sluggish feeling that accompanied heat.</p><p>Except, here, in Harry’s careful hands, Draco couldn’t understand how he’d lived so long without the feeling of such warmth against his skin.</p><p>“You know,” Harry huffed in amusement, “you’re a lot better behaved than another white ferret I know.”</p><p>At that, Draco came to realize that he was in <em>Potter’s hands</em>, and<em> god</em>, what the fuck kind of hex was this? Was this how all ferrets felt, or did it come from that damn chocolate?</p><p>“Potter!”</p><p>Potter flinched and they both turned to see Goyle, mouth twisted into a horrified gasp and the Madam Pomfrey he promised to retrieve nowhere to be seen.</p><p>Potter’s smile vanished like it had never been there in the first place and he glared at Goyle. “What do you want?”</p><p>“That ferret!” Goyle lunged forward and grabbed Potter’s arm. “Give me that ferret!”</p><p>“It’s yours?”</p><p>“Yeah – no,” Goyle struggled with his words, and Draco wished he could kick him. “He belongs to Slytherin, Potter!”</p><p>Potter blinked, startled, and tried to yank his arm free. “Okay, okay! Why didn’t you just say so?” He held Draco out, and Goyle quickly grabbed the scruff of his neck a little too hard.</p><p>As quickly as Potter’s warmth had enveloped him, it disappeared, the remaining traces of it was already fading from Draco’s memory.</p><p>He almost wished it never happened. The shadow of heat still lingering on his skin would only make him feel colder when it was gone.</p><p>Fucking<em>.</em></p><p>
  <em>Potter.</em>
</p><p>Of course everything went down a shithole whenever he was around.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p>             </p><p>In the end, Madame Pomfrey was not needed. Draco spent far more time shouting in Goyle’s face and waving his hands around in the hours that followed the incident than he did as a ferret. Perhaps he would’ve settled down quicker if the image of Potter’s green eyes and smile didn’t invade his mind every time he tried to calm down.</p><p>When he tried to write to his father about those blasted Ferret Frogs, or his mother about how much he despised Goyle, a wandering note about Potter would bleed in like spilled ink and he’d rip the parchment in two again. He would’ve listened to the whisper in the back of his mind saying that <em>not</em> including some snarky remark about Potter in his letters would be multiple times more alarming if Potter’s wretched frown didn’t follow the words around.</p><p>Draco had been careful to scowl at Goyle when they were alone in the halls, but of course Cabbe caught wind of the situation, which meant so did Zabini and Pansy. By the end of the day, the whole Slytherin house would’ve known had Draco not threatened to rat out their plans of night wanderings to the curious first years.</p><p>And it reminded him of the need for an invisibility cloak, which lead to Potter’s invisibility cloak and the unfairness of it all, and then Potter himself and the way his hair would look impossibly more scuffled if he pulled the cloak over his head, and of course it’d unveil Potter’s warm smile, and his warm hands, and, and Draco had more important things to think about.</p><p>It was just his luck that the topic of Potter was so popular in the Slytherin dungeons.</p><p>“---cut off my balls with my own teeth if it wasn’t Potter behind it all,” Zabini was saying when Draco stalked into the common room. Of course they were still talking about that damned ferret incident.</p><p>Pansy glanced up from a book propped in her lap and shot a smirk at Draco. “We’re about to watch Blaise chew off his dick. Care to spare a moment to join?”</p><p>Zabini snorted. “Let’s hear it if you’ve got a better idea.”</p><p>Pansy ignored him and leaned forward expectantly. “Was it Potter, Draco?”</p><p>“I have better things to do than gossip about Potter every moment of my life,” Draco said instead, taking a seat at one of the chairs beside the table and dropping his stack of books onto it.</p><p>Zabini was eyeing him with one eyebrow raised in amusement, and <em>you talk as if you don’t already do that every second you’re alive, Draco</em>.</p><p>Draco ignored him and tuned their chatter out. He still had to finish that Charms essay by Monday and thinking about Potter wasn’t about to get him anywhere but into a never-ending spiral of waring thoughts. Except he couldn’t focus, couldn’t do <em>anything</em> but think about Potter’s stupid smile and stupid <em>Hi there, I’m Harry</em>. And Pansy and Zabini were still arguing about why or why not Potter was behind the Ferret Frogs in front of him.</p><p>It <em>wasn’t</em> Potter, because if he’d known the ferret was Draco of all people, he wouldn’t have been able to muster up such a smile.</p><p>Draco was not a master at emotions and the works behind smiles, grins, smirks, grimaces, but he was a master of Harry Potter’s. Done all in theory and second-hand experience, but never in practice or as the catalyst. The genuine, delighted smile on his face whenever he was surrounded by Weasley and Granger or at the sight of a decent grade in Potions. Excited, barely contained during first year, the first time he led the Gryffindor quidditch team to victory.</p><p>Awkward, strained, distracted, sarcastic, fake—Draco could name it all.</p><p>He could name more than just smiles, of course, certainly. It was all just a necessary part of his job title as Potter’s rival.  </p><p> </p><p>***</p><p>Potter was struggling in Potions. Again.</p><p>It was infuriating to watch, Potter with his nervous, careless movements and almost knocking over the cauldron twice within the short span of thirty seconds. His book and wand were tossed to the side of the table, without even the magicked covering to protect them from splatters. What was he even <em>doing</em>? Out of the corner of his eye, Draco could see Snape a few tables away, eyeing Potter’s mess of an assignment with his lip curled with disgust at the incompetence. No wonder Snape disliked him so much.</p><p>Weasley, as Potter’s partner instead of Granger’s for a change, didn’t improve the situation in the slightest. His frazzled expression had dipped gloomily, movements lackluster, as he half-heartedly read aloud the instructions.</p><p>“Er,” Weasley was saying, “hold on, I think I misread that.”</p><p>“What?” Potter asked, voice cracking. “I already put the damn spleen in!”</p><p>Before, seeing Potter grapple with his mixtures made his day. Now, it just irritated him. He couldn’t even remember when the change had taken place—fifth year? Sixth year? Potter’s amateur mistakes and flushed face was beyond distracting.</p><p>Draco wanted to storm over and inform him that he should have wrestled down the fire to submission first before even beginning the potion. That on Tuesdays the bat spleen and bat wing containers liked to switch places and that he had to gently place the cut-up wings into the mixture in areas where it bubbled the least.</p><p>And fucking Weasley, Draco could read instructions a thousand times more clearly than that idiot could.</p><p><em>God</em>. Draco ripped his eyes away and turned back to his books, potion long completed and filled into neat bottles with Snape’s approval. <em>They’re both idiots, I don’t even know why I bother.</em></p><p>Beside him, Pansy said, “Potter could have a whole television show dedicated to his potion failures.”</p><p>“I can already see the headlines,” Draco replied with a smirk, “Potter’s Precarious Potions Prick.”</p><p>As Pansy snorted, Draco caught Potter’s eye.</p><p>There was that resentful frown again.</p><p>Pulling at his eyebrows and the air from Draco’s lungs, before Weasley dragged his attention away and Draco was left with nothing but the back of Potter’s scruffy black hair.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>“If there’s one thing that makes being a prefect dreadful,” Zabini drawled, “it’s patrolling the halls.”</p><p>“Careful,” Draco said as he meticulously combed through his hair in front of the mirror, “wouldn’t it be simply awful if I were to hand out detention on the day before a trip to Hogsmeade?”</p><p>Zabini shrugged and sprawled out on his bed. He picked up a coat and chucked it at a sleeping Goyle. “As if you’d run the risk of Pansy clinging to you for that. You know, it’s be a lot easier to just indulge her without any strings attached. It’s not exactly,” he sniggered, “a <em>chore</em>, if you catch my drift.”</p><p>Draco scowled at Zabini’s reflection, even though he was busy drawing circles on Goyle’s face with the tip of his wand. “I’m offended you even consider that I would do something so indecent.”</p><p>“Just sharing some information with a buddy.”</p><p>Draco scrunched up his nose. “Keep your disgusting ventures to yourself and your whores.”</p><p>Without waiting for a snarky reply, Draco raked his fingers through his hair one last time and stalked out of the dorm room. If it weren’t for the students gathered in the common room, he would have stomped out his frustration, because just the thought of anything related to fucking was getting on his nerves. His mind had been completely blank when he had done it in the shower this morning, none of the usual fantasies or faceless girls surfacing to help him get rid of morning wood. He had ended up switching the water to a blasting cold. He was a normal teenage boy—Draco could hardly believe he had chosen to think about common herbs and their uses instead of screwing some girl.</p><p>It was the stress of the N.E.W.T.s, certainly. Draco wasn’t going to spend his quiet time patrolling the halls without constant sardonic chatter of his friends following him like the plague wondering why his dick wasn’t working.</p><p>Like always, his mind drifted to the thought of Potter. Every moment spent out of his bed and in these dark halls reminded him of Potter and his cloak. If he just narrowed his eyes at a point in the distance, he could almost imagine a peek of Potter’s shoes or a floating hand or a ripple in the air, despite being perfectly aware invisibility cloaks wouldn’t be invisible if they left ripples through space.</p><p>There was a crash from his left and Draco almost believed that it was Potter roaming the empty classrooms again. His hand flew to his wand by instinct and he stuck his head into the vacant classroom, part of him wishing that there really was a floating hand hovering by the stacked desks and the other cursing himself for wishing.</p><p>But one too many heads turned at the sound of his footsteps, two mops of hair unmistakably blond even beneath shadows.</p><p>Draco was speechless at their brazen carelessness.</p><p>“You are practically asking for detention,” he drawled, surveying the two with a critical eye. He recognized one—a fifth year Gryffindor girl Nott was peering at yesterday morning pressing a scrawny boy against the wall. From their flushed faces, Draco suspected this wasn’t a simple act of bully and victim. <em>God, even fifth years are getting more action</em>. What a twisted world.</p><p>“This isn’t—I,” the boy was already squeaking. “We, ah, er—”</p><p>Draco slipped his wand back into his pocket and smirked. “Sixty points from Gryffindor each. I’m sure Professor Mcgonagall will be pleasantly surprised, don’t you agree?” There would never be a time in his life that he didn’t love witnessing a Gryffindor’s humiliation.</p><p>When they remained frozen, Draco scowled and jerked his head in direction of the Gryffindor towers. “Get out of here, and if I catch you again, Mcgonagall won’t be able to look Snape in the eye for weeks.”</p><p>The two instantly untangled themselves and slipped past him.</p><p>There, that landed the group of morons in last place. He wondered how Potter would react in the morning, the points from the last victorious match against Hufflepuff completely wiped out of existence. Angry? Draco doubted it, with all those points he lost back in first year. Disappointed, perhaps.</p><p>Miserable.</p><p>And for just a fraction of a second, Draco regretted his promise of deducting a hundred and twenty points.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p>Draco was on his way back to the Slytherin dungeons when he heard a muffled yelp in one of the old, empty classrooms. By now, the exhaustion of the day was beginning to seep into his mind, and this served as nothing more than a distraction keeping him from slipping into bed.</p><p>For the second time that night, he yanked out his wand and stormed into the classroom.</p><p>“God, you have some nerve, trying to, to—” Draco halted, speech stuttering.</p><p>Because now, <em>this time</em>, floating body parts really were bobbing in the air. A head and an outstretched leg on the floor. More specifically, <em>Potter’s</em> floating head, staring at him, glasses knocked askew but frozen in shock.</p><p>Draco stared back, vaguely aware his mouth hung open. He was the first to compose himself, firmly closing his mouth and twisting his features into a familiar sneer. “Need help putting on your cloak properly? You’re making Nearly Headless Nick jealous, Potter.”</p><p>Potter leapt to his feet and hauled his cloak off his shoulders onto a mountain of chairs, revealing the rest of his body. Now that they stood face to face, body to body, Draco didn’t feel like sneering so much here, where they were completely alone. Him and Potter. Alone. Potter adjusted his glasses and his hand inched towards his pocket for his wand. Draco swallowed. Throwing a hex would make him feel better.</p><p>“You don’t deserve to be a prefect when you say things like that,” Potter hissed through clenched teeth. “Hermione’s absolutely right to be angry.”</p><p>“And I suppose you think you’re much better?” Draco scoffed. “It’s a miracle you haven’t disgraced Gryffindor more than you already have. What the hell are you even doing?”</p><p>“Nothing,” Potter said quickly, his eyes darting. Draco followed his gaze before he could turn away and spotted an open wardrobe he hadn’t noticed before.</p><p>“I suppose any piece of clothing would be better than what you have back home,” Draco muttered.</p><p>Potter glared at him. “It’s none of your business, Malfoy,” he said, spitting out the name so harshly that Draco’s fingers curled into fists. His nails must have created tiny crescent moons against his palms. “Just—just do your stupid prefect deduction duties, rat me at out to Professor McGonagall! Let me go.”</p><p>Maybe it was because they were completely alone in the old classroom, with only the stacked desks and dust-ridden board to act as witnesses. Or perhaps it was because Potter’s face was so clouded with shadows that Draco couldn’t make out his green eyes, and he knew that there would probably never be another moment quite like this one. But whatever the reason was, Draco planted himself in the doorway and crossed his arms over his chest, squarely blocking Potter’s only way out. It gained him an angry frown that Draco had to smile at.</p><p>Just another minute alone with Potter would be enough for a lifetime.</p><p>Instead of everything he should have said, <em>would</em> have said if it weren’t for the unsteady beats of his heart, Draco casually blew the tip of his wand and pretended to flick away non-existent dust. “So, Potter, would you like to tell me why you’ve begun your nighttime wanderings again? No Dark Lord to overthrow, you must be getting restless.”</p><p>“What do you think you’re doing, Malfoy?” Potter asked through gritted teeth.</p><p>Watching this boy, with his scruffy, untameable hair and flaring temper, Draco wondered how his Patronus could be something as imperial as a stag.</p><p>Musing, thinking, wondering about Potter—if Draco was a Weasley or a Granger, he could have every single one of his questions answered with just a nudge, a few words strung into a sentence, and a quirked eyebrow. <em>God, holy fuck, that’s a horrible thought. Imagine that hair, I’d never be able to pair anything with that horrid shade of red. </em></p><p>“Nothing,” Draco answered. “I’m curious. Can’t I be curious of the Savior of the wizarding world? The Boy Who Lived, surely you can spare me a moment of your precious time.”</p><p>Draco watched Potter’s expressions flicker in the dark from anger to confusion to surprise to annoyance, and then back to confusion. “I—” his gaze darted back the wardrobe again. “I was checking for something.”</p><p>“What’s that something?”</p><p>“I thought—Ron said Snape kept extra potions in here.”</p><p>Draco raised a disbelieving eyebrow and twirled his wand. “Sixty points… maybe eighty? A hundred points! Gryffindor would be finished for sure. You can save the world but still get caught wandering the school halls… what an example. A hundred and—”</p><p>“Boggart!” Potter nearly shouted. It was a miracle they hadn’t attracted attention yet.</p><p>“Oh, now he’s mad. Wonderful. Should’ve kept a closer watch on his mental—”</p><p>“No!” Potter shook his head in frustration before his shoulders drooped. “I was looking for a boggart.”</p><p>Draco scrunched up his nose. “Why?”</p><p>Potter trudged to the open wardrobe. In the tiny beam of moonlight that spilled through the window, Draco caught a glimpse of a pout and his chest seized. A second later and Potter was doused in darkness again, face hidden, but Draco’s still couldn’t seem to draw in a breath of air. Potter pushed the wardrobe door until it closed tight with a soft thud and busied himself with the knob of the cupboard drawer beside it.</p><p>“I just wanted to find a boggart,” he repeated in a mumble. “To check. If it’s changed. I wanted to get a look at the Mirror of Erised, but Professor Dumbledore took it away. I just wanted to know. You know?”</p><p>This may have been the first time Potter spoke to him without an edge to his voice, and Draco found that he wanted to say he did know, that he knew exactly what they were talking about, that he understood. Even though he didn’t have the slightest clue and couldn’t imagine why anybody would want to come to face with a boggart voluntarily.</p><p>Instead of saying any of those things, he shrugged. “So?”</p><p>“So what?”</p><p>“So did you find your boggart?”</p><p>Potter looked startled, as if he didn’t think Draco could possibly form such a question. It was irritating. “No,” Potter nudged the wardrobe with a fingertip, “I was still looking when you barged in.” He paused, and then said bitterly, “Don’t take too many points, okay? We’ll stray into the negatives and Ron really wanted to win this year.”</p><p>Draco hummed. “That would be no fun, would it?”</p><p>“<em>Pardon?</em>”</p><p>“I’m just thinking aloud,” Draco replied with a smirk, trying to ignore the way his stomach was twisting itself into knots at the revelation that he might have unearthed a slice of Potter that nobody else had, “It would be awfully boring if Slytherin’s only real competition was cut out of the game. Besides, better let your two fifth years and their little nighttime adventure take the spotlight this time, yeah?”</p><p>“Fifth years? What are you talking about?”</p><p>Draco’s smirk only widened. “You’ll find out tomorrow morning.” He waved his wand at the invisibility cloak in a heap on a pile of deserted chairs and threw it over Potter’s head. “Sweet dreams, Potter.”</p><p>He wanted to wait for a reply, for a <em>goodnight, Malfoy</em> or a <em>whatever, Malfoy</em> or even a <em>shut it, Malfoy.</em> Just to hear his name come from Potter’s lips. But some whisper in his head told him that would be crossing some blurred line, a very important blurred line, so Draco spun around and walked away from the classroom.</p><p>That empty room would now be imprinted in his mind, and every time he strolled past it on the way to the Slytherin dungeons, Draco would never be able resist a glance into it at the closed wardrobe.</p><p>As if the Harry Potter from his memory would materialize from thin air and be standing under the thin beam of moonlight with a pout on his lips, ready to confess to Draco all over again that he wanted to see a boggart.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>Guess who?</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>and perfectly on cue,</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>you would respond with,</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>I love you</strong>
</p>
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